fingers apart with every tenderness possible in such emergency, shocked
at noting the expression of intense agony stamped upon the man's face
when thus exposed to view. The whole terrible story was engraven
there--how he had toiled, agonized, suffered, before finally yielding
to the inevitable and plunging forward in unconsciousness, written as
legibly as though by a pen. Every pang of mental torture had left
plainest imprint across that haggard countenance. He appeared old,
pitiable, a wreck. Carson, who in his long service had witnessed much
of death and suffering, bent tenderly above him, seeking for some faint
evidence of lingering life. His fingers felt for no wound, for to his
experienced eyes the sad tale was already sufficiently clear--hunger,
exposure, the horrible heart-breaking strain of hopeless endeavor, had
caused this ending, this unspeakable tragedy of the barren waterless
plain. He had witnessed it all before, and hoped now for little. The
anxious lieutenant, bareheaded under the hot sun-glare, strode hastily
across from beside the unconscious but breathing girl, and stood gazing
doubtfully down upon them.

"Any life, sergeant?" he demanded, his voice rendered husky by sympathy.

"He doesn't seem entirely gone, sir," and Carson glanced up into the
officer's face, his own eyes filled with feeling. "I can distinguish
just a wee bit of breathing, but it's so weak the pulse hardly stirs."

"What do you make of it?"

"Starving at the bottom, sir. The only thing I see now is to get them
down to water and food."

The young officer glanced swiftly about him across that dreary picture